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SEASHORE OF 



NEW ENGLAND 



AN ILLUSTRATED LECTURE BY 



HENRY G. PEABODY 



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SEASHORE OF NEW ENGLAND 

Copyright, 1908, by H. G. Pkabody, Pasadena, Cal. 

OUR Atlantic seacoast, from Florida north to Massachusetts, is 
generally low and sandy, and presents few interesting points to 
the traveler in search of the picturesque. But when we round the 
highlands of Cape Cod, and leave its shifting sands behind us, we 
begin to skirt the shores of a coast which, from the rocky reefs of 
Cohasset to the extreme eastern point of Maine, is unsurpassed in 
beauty and variety by any seashore in the world. 

The historic and legendary features of the northern New England 
coast are no less interesting than its scenic attractions, as there is scarcely 
an island, rocky cape or sandy beach that was not associated with the 
early struggles of white settlers with the Indian tribes, or that did not 
form a battleground for the English adventurers and titled Frenchmen 
who here contended for the mastery. 

Let us then, beginning at the northern side of Massachusetts Bay, 
follow the picturesque windings of this sinuous shore, which, if ex- 
tended in a straight line, would reach from the Bay of Fundy to the 
Gulf of Mexico. 

On the northern side of Boston Bay lies the island-like town of 
Nahant. Its rocky shores are fully exposed to the open Atlantic, which 
may here be studied in all its various moods. Our view was taken 
from its outer point on the day following a great March storm, which 
strewed our New England coast, from Cape Cod to Quoddy Head, 
with the wrecks of many unfortunate vessels. The storm had cleared 
away. The sun was brightening the waters of the bay which stretched 
on either side, but the sight as the great waves rolled in and towered 
above the outlying ledges was appalling in its grandeur. 

Forming the northern side of Nahant Bay is the rocky promontory 
of Marblehead, which is thrown out like a bastion from the easterly 
sweep of Cape Ann, and is girded by many rocky islets and dangerous 
sunken ledges. Its harbor, one of the deepest on the coast, is enclosed 



between the town itself and the " Neck," which is connected with the 
mainland by a narrow causeway. The ocean side of this peninsula, 
which forms the subject of our picture, is bordered by bold, rocky 
bluffs, crowned with picturesque, red-roofed summer cottages, and 
indented by many caverns, worn by the perpetual action of the sea. 

One of these caverns, called the Churn, is a deep and narrow fissure 
in the cliff, with vertical and parallel walls from thirty to forty feet 
high. At certain stages of the tide the waves enter this cleft with a 
noise like thunder, and strike violently against its narrowing end, to 
be broken into spray and thrown high in the air like the spouting of an 
enormous whale. Many of these flumes exist along our New England 
coast, being formed by the wearing away of the narrow veins of trap 
rock by the action of the sea, which makes no impression on the harder 
rock on either side. 

Rounding the outer point of the peninsula we enter the harbor of 
Marblehead, and see before us 

" The strange, old-fashioned, silent town, 
The lighthouse, the dismantled fort, 
The wooden houses quaint and brown." 

No town on our New England coast has such a distinctly nautical flavor 
as Marblehead. For generations her sons have followed the sea, and 
even the children become imbued with a salty spirit, which finds ex- 
pression in their daily talk almost as soon as they can walk. On one 
occasion a young urchin had incurred the maternal displeasure, and 
taken to his heels to escape chastisement. The wrathful parent, with 
an ample spread of skirts extended to the favoring breeze, was rapidly 
gaining on the youngster, when one of his companions, who was watch- 
ing the race with a critical eye, called out, " Try her to windward, Bill ! 
Try her to windward! " 

Landing at Tucker's Wharf we may stroll through the labyrinth of 
of ancient streets, bordered with antiquated buildings, nearly every 
one of which antedates the Revolution. In that crisis Marblehead was 
heard in no uncertain voice. Before the echoes of the shots at Concord 
Bridge had died away, a regiment of her hardy sons forsook their boats 
and fishing lines to follow John Glover at their country's call. Before 
the Revolution Marblehead was our principal fishing port, a fleet of 
120 vessels being employed in the industry. 

But the trim and jaunty yachts have taken the place of the departed 
fishing vessels, and Marblehead has become the great yachting centre of 
New England. On the Neck, in the midst of the summer colony, are 
the commodious houses of two of New England's leading yacht clubs, 
the Eastern and the Corinthian. Enrolled in the fleet of the former are 



some of the largest and swiftest yachts in America. During three 
successive years the America cup was successfully defended, under the 
banner of the Eastern Yacht Club, by the famous Burgess trio, " Puri- 
tan," " Mayflower " and " Volunteer." The fleet of the Corinthian club, 
however, is mainly composed of the smaller classes of yachts. 

7 Amateur seamanship is the feature of the Corinthian regattas, and 
the boats as a rule are handled exclusively by the owners and their 
friends. The races being sailed over open ocean courses, where high 
winds and heavy seas are frequently encountered, seaworthiness is the 
first quality necessary to be considered. The advent of the Scotch cut- 
ter "Minerva," which pluckily sailed across the ocean in 1888, caused 
the building of a whole fleet of forty-footers, of which she remained 
for nearly two years the undisputed queen. But the building of the 
Burgess forty-footer "Gossoon," the champion of the Corinthian fleet, 
finally checked the " Minerva's " victorious career. 

8 Adjoining Marblehead is the ancient town of Salem, rich in antique 
memorials and still haunted by the ghostly traditions of 1692. Turn- 
ing into Union Street the visitor is usually waylaid by a crowd of 
children eager to point out the Hawthorne house. As we look upon 
this humble dwelling, the birthplace, and for many years the home, of 
Nathaniel Hawthorne, we recall these words of his : " If ever I should 
have a biographer he ought to make great mention of this place in my 
memoirs, because so much of my lonely youth was wasted here, and 
here my mind and character were formed. And here I have been glad 
and hopeful, and here I have been despondent, and here I sat a long, 
long time, waiting for the world to know me, and sometimes wonder- 
ing why it did not know me sooner, or whether it would ever know 
me at all." 

9 Leaving the Hawthorne house we turn toward the oldest house in 
Salem, the Roger Williams, or "Old Witch House," erected prior to 
1635. The veil of mystery, woven by 200 years, still enshrouds the 
origin of Salem witchcraft. Not that witchcraft originated in Salem, 
by any means, for, nearly 1 500 years before Christ, the Scriptures set 
forth the maxim: "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live." Saul in- 
curred the anger of the Almighty by consulting the Witch of Endor. 
Half a century before the discovery of this continent Joan of Arc was 
burned as a witch. To tell the story of Salem witchcraft would require 
an entire lecture. 

10 One illustration must suffice, a memorial of the most revolting of 

these sacrifices to superstition. This old house, one of the oldest now 
standing in America, was the home of Rebecca Nourse, an aged and 
harmless woman, beloved and respected by the entire community. She 



was accused by irresponsible persons of being a witch. The jury, 
moved by her evident innocence, brought in a verdict of "not guilty," 
but the court sent them out again with instructions to find her guilty. 
She died a martyr to superstition, but her children lived to see her 
memory vindicated and her enemies confounded. 

1 J Not far from the home of Rebecca Nourse stands an old farmhouse 

in which was born Israel Putnam, the "Old Put" of the Revolution. 
His courage and fearlessness were an honest inheritance from his father, 
Joseph Putnam. The latter was one of the very few who dared to 
protest openly against the cruel methods of the witchcraft accusers. 
To defy these fanatical bigots required a greater moral courage than to 
face the British regulars on Bunker Hill. To incur their resentment 
was to court accusation, and accusation invariably meant conviction 
and death. So for six months Putnam's horse stood saddled, night 
and day, ready for instant flight, and his trusty flintlock was in con- 
stant readiness. At the trial of Rebecca Nourse Putnam was one of 
that noble band of forty, who, openly defying the clergy and judges, 
dared to sign the paper testifying to the good character and innocence 
of the accused. 

12 The section in which is located the Putnam house and Witch Hill 

was taken from Salem a hundred years ago or more, and is now in- 
cluded within the limits of the more modern town of Danvers. Close 
by is Oak Knoll, the home of Whittier in his later years, and the old 
farm and pear tree of Gov. Endicott. No lecture on New England 
would be complete without an illustration of her typical tree, the elm. 
Go where you will throughout her borders, and the spreading branches 
of her graceful elms will shade your pathway. Salem is noted, far 
and near, for the beauty and symmetry of her streets of elms, but the 
subject of our illustration is the largest and finest specimen in Massa- 
chusetts, the great elm at Lancaster. 

1 1 Embarking again at Salem Harbor we skirt the southern shore of 

Cape Ann, a stretch of coast which in sylvan beauty and picturesque 
variety is unsurpassed in America, if indeed in the world. Handsome 
villas dot the shore from Beverly Harbor to Eastern Point, and about 
midway between is the Singing Beach, a view of which is now before 
us. Its musical sands give forth a melody, soft and sweet, as they are 
struck by each advancing wave, but shrill and harsh when pressed by 
passing feet, a rare phenomenon which is only known to exist else- 
where in a few places on the coast of Scotland. 

14 A few miles beyond we reach the entrance to Gloucester Harbor, the 

further side of which is formed by the long peninsula of Eastern Point. 
Lying between the open ocean and the calm waters of the harbor, the 



5 

Point forms an ideal spot for summer habitation, and has been laid 
out in park-like system. On the extremity of the Point stands the 
lighthouse, the intermittent flashing of whose ruddy glow is a welcome 
greeting to the homebound iisher from the distant banks. On the 
western side of the harbor entrance lies the reef of Norman's Woe, 
whose tragical association with the wreck of the " Hesperus " the author 
of Evangeline has told in verse. 

15 In the sheltered arm of the sea lying between Norman's Woe and 
Eastern Point we meet one of the staunch representatives of Glouces- 
ter's fishing industry, which employs nearly 6000 men in the most 
perilous profession known. The average career of a fisherman on the 
Banks is less than ten years, and there is scarcely a home in Gloucester 
but mourns some missing member, or looks anxiously toward the 
harbor entrance for the ship that never comes. The cruel rocks of the 
ironbound coast of Nova Scotia, the hazard incident to gales on the 
Banks, and the constant peril of the anchorage on the fog-bound fishing 
grounds, directly in the path of the transatlantic liners, are dangers which 
the Gloucester wives and mothers know too well. The last glimmer 
of the white sail rounding Eastern Point is too often the last farewell 
to the loved ones it bears away, never to return. 

16 A few miles beyond the city of Gloucester we reach Land's End, 
and stand upon the extreme eastern point of Cape Ann. In front of 
us, a short distance from shore, lies Thatcher's Island, with its two lofty 
granite towers standing like sentinels to guard the northern entrance to 
Massachusetts Bay. Forty -two miles away, on the highlands of Cape 
Cod, is fixed the great white eye of the Highland Light. In ordinary 
weather the incoming vessel can scarcely fail to sight one or the other 
of these brilliant beacons as she enters the waters of the bay, and on 
very clear nights the lights of both capes may be seen at once. 

17 Twenty miles directly north from Thatcher's Island the Isles of 
Shoals lie low on the horizon, nine miles distant from the nearest point 
on the mainland. They are seven in number, four lying in Maine and 
three in New Hampshire. The two largest, Appledore and Star, con- 
tain commodious hotels, and are the headquarters of the summer colony. 
On the west is White Island, the most picturesque of the group, whose 
rocky cliffs are crowned with the snowy tower of a lighthouse. To 
effect a landing on this island, except in the calmest weather, requires 
able seamanship. The slip consists of two parallel wooden beams, on 
which the boat is hauled up, and to land with precision between these 
guides, with a cross sea running, is a feat which calls for a cool head 
and steady hand, and which sometimes results in a spilled cargo and 
involuntary bath for the most experienced. 



18 This lonely spot, isolated from the rest of the world, and visited 
only by the sea birds during the greater portion of the year, was the 
childhood home of Celia Thaxter. Her father was for many years the 
keeper of the light, and she has told in charming verse the recollections 
of her early life. 

" I lit the lamps in the lighthouse tower, 
For the sun dropped down and the day was dead, 
They shone like a glorious clustered flower, — 
Ten golden and five red. 

" O warning lights ! burn bright and clear 
Hither the storm comes ! Leagues away 
It moans and thunders low and drear, — 
Burn till the break of day ! 

jq " Looking across, where the line of coast 

Stretched darkly, shrinking away from the sea, 
The lights sprang out at its edge, — almost 
They seemed to answer me t " 

One of these answering lights is the "beacon which glimmered from 
Portsmouth Bar, as the White Isle kindled its great red star," and 
which stands on Whale's Back Ledge, at the Piscataqua's mouth. 

20 Borne onward by the rushing current of the incoming tide, which 
seldom flows with greater swiftness than along the shores of Portsmouth 
and Kittery, we soon see before us the huge, barn-like structures of 
the Navy Yard. Although our picture was taken during the most 
exciting period of the Spanish War, the place looks as peaceful and 
quiet as a country churchyard. But, although so quiet now, in former 
years this was the centre of bustle and activity, where were built and 
launched many of our old-time men-of-war. 

21 One of the most famous vessels which ever left these stocks was 
the renowned " Kearsarge," a New Hampshire vessel in name, material 
and construction. From the slopes of Kearsarge Mountain, whose name 
the vessel bore, were brought the oaken timbers which formed her 
frame. Her brilliant exploit in sinking the Confederate privateer 
" Alabama," off the coast of France, near the close of our Civil War, 
won for her an enduring affection in the hearts of the people. Her 
loss on Roncador Reef, in the Caribbean Sea, in the winter of 1 894, 
was mourned by all. Almost a century before the launching of the 
" Kearsarge," the " Ranger," flying the first flag of the United States 
to be saluted by a foreign power, sailed hence under the command of 
John Paul Jones. 

22 For nearly twenty years after the close of the Civil War we had 
no navy worthy of the name. But within little more than half a score 



of years we built and launched the armada which so successfully upheld 
our cause upon the sea in 1898. In 188} Congress authorized the 
construction of the first vessels of our modern navy. These composed 
the famous Squadron of Evolution, popularly known as the " White 
Squadron." It comprised the flagship "Chicago," shown in the centre 
of the group ; the sister cruisers " Atlanta " and " Boston," in the upper 
left hand corner; the "Newark," flagship of our Eastern Squadron, 
in the upper right hand corner ; and the twin gunboats, " Concord " and 
"Yorktown," below on the right. Under the command of Admiral 
Walker this fleet spent several years in foreign cruising, squadron evo- 
lutions, and in that constant drill and practice which laid the foundation 
for the efficiency of our present naval force. 

23 At anchor in Portsmouth Harbor on July 1 1, 1898, lay the great 
ocean liner " St. Louis," having on board the Spanish prisoners from 
Admiral Cervera's captured fleet, brought from Santiago. For the 
first time in our history prisoners, speaking a foreign tongue, represent- 
ing a different type of civilization, were to be landed on American soil. 
The sight was one which will never be forgotten by those who witnessed 
it. As the tug, with barge in tow, approached and made fast to the 
side of the great steamer, hundreds of curious and interested spectators 
came out in rowboats from the shores of Kittery and Newcastle. The 
gangway was lowered to the barge's deck, and down it marched a guard 
of marines who were stationed at intervals along the rail. 

24 Then came the prisoners, a dilapidated looking lot, clad for the 
most part in cast-off suits of duck which had once been white, but 
which were now, like Joseph's coat, of many colors. They were a 
good-natured lot, made no trouble, and seemed happy and contented. 
And well they might be. As prisoners of war they received kind treat- 
ment, better far, in all probability, than they expected or had been 
accustomed to. On the upper deck of the steamer stood their admiral 
and former captains, to witness their departure. The captain of the 
" Colon," Cervera's flagship, stood by the gangway with roster in hand 
and checked off the names of the 600 prisoners as they left the steamer. 

25 When the barge could hold no more, lines were cast off, farewells 
were waved from their officers, and the first installment of Spanish 
prisoners steamed away to be landed on Seavey's Island. How fortu- 
nate the lot of these Spanish prisoners, with clean, healthy quarters, 
situated on a seacoast island, within gunshot of one of our most fash- 
ionable summer hotels, and with plenty of good, wholesome food ! 
How different from the unfortunate lot of our own Union soldiers, 
who suffered and died in the stockade at Andersonville ! Truly, in the 
kind and humane treatment of its prisoners, our government maintained 



8 

the broad principles of humanity which led it to espouse the cause of 
the oppressed and downtrodden in the Spanish War. 

26 Portsmouth is rich in Colonial relics and time-honored traditions. 
Longfellow, in his " Tales of a Wayside Inn," has given us the charm- 
ing romance of " Lady Wentworth." He draws a striking pen-picture 
of Mistress Stavers in her furbelows as she courtesied low to Governor 
Wentworth, driving down — 

" To Little Harbor, just beyond the town, 
Where his great house stood looking out to sea, 
A goodly place, where it was good to be. 

" It was a pleasant mansion, an abode 
Near and yet hidden from the great high road, 
Sequestered among trees, a noble pile, 
Baronial and colonial in its style; 
Gables and dormer windows everywhere, 
And stacks of chimneys rising high in air." 

27 As we cross the ferry from Newcastle, and set foot upon the soil of 
Maine at Kittery Point, we are confronted by another relic of Colonial 
days, the old Pepperell Mansion. Here lived Sir William Pepperell, a 
self-made man, who, by native genius and thrift, accumulated one of 
the most colossal fortunes of Colonial New England. It used to be 
said that Sir William might ride to the Saco without going off his own 
possessions. The lawn, now overgrown with weeds, stretches down to 
the water side, where may still be seen the rotting timbers of the wharf 
where the Pepperells carried on their extensive trade. 

28 Adjoining Kittery on the east is the old town of York, first settled 
in 1624 under the name of Agamenticus. Later, in 1642, as Gorgeana, 
it became the first incorporated city in America, although in reality it 
was but a seacoast fishing village. In 1653 its charter was revoked and 
the name changed to York, since which time its history has been full 
of interesting incidents. Today its principal historic relic is the old jail, 
which stands on a rocky ledge by the roadside in the centre of the 
village. In former times, when York was the county seat, its dismal 
cells and dungeons held many culprits, but now, as the tablet indicates, 
it is used as a museum of Colonial relics, and, in this instance, it costs 
fifteen cents to get into jail. 

29 Stretching inland several miles from York Harbor is a winding arm 
of the sea known as York River, which we cross upon an ancient bridge, 
built in 1761. This bridge rests upon piles driven into the bed of the 
river. It was the first instance of such construction, serving as a model 
for later bridges over the Charles and Mystic at Boston. The fertile 
region through which York River flows is picturesque in the extreme, 



with its shady, overhanging foliage, its quaint wooden bridges, its cosy 
farmhouses and sumptous summer homes. On the extreme right is 
seen the commodious house of the York Country Club, with tennis 
courts and extensive golf links adjoining. But, while the calm, pastoral 
beauty of the river banks is one of the chief attractions of the town to 
many, the majority of summer visitors seek the bold and rugged region 
where Cape Neddick thrusts its long, narrow peninsula far out into the 
sea toward the distant shaft of Boon Island Light. 

30 At the extremity of the Cape lies a bold and rugged headland, 
called the Nubble, which, islanded by the rising tide, was for many 
years frequented only by the sea fowl, and a few adventurous hunters 
who went in search of them. At low tide a narrow isthmus connects 
it with the mainland, and frequently an adventurous tourist, forgetting 
the flight of time in the eager exploration of its scenic grandeur, found 
his retreat cut off by the rising waters, and was confined for twelve 
hours, an unwilling prisoner. But since the establishment of Cape 
Neddick Light, the dory ferry of the keeper carries daily scores of 
visitors to roam at will over its wild and rugged rocks. 

3 1 The shores of Cape Neddick, extending more than a mile from the 
Nubble to the Beach, present a continual succession of ever-changing 
forms. Midway is the Flume, a deep and narrow fissure in the cliff, 
which the rising tide fills with the never-ceasing murmur of the waves. 
At the lowest point of the ebbing tide one may clamber far down 
among the moss-covered rocks which line its entrance, where, in the 
deep, quiet pools left by the receding waters, lies a wealth of beauty 
such as no aquarium can furnish. The brilliant-colored star-fish, the 
chestnut-like burrs of the sea urchins, with the purple mussels under 
the edges of the rocks, and perhaps an imprisoned lobster, are revealed 
so clearly by the transparent water that one is often deceived, and on 
attempting to gain possession of the treasures, finds they are beyond 
his reach. 

32 Following along the rocky shore, after leaving the Flume, we pres- 
ently reach the point at the junction of the cape with the mainland 
where the eastward trending line of the coast forms the crescent of 
York Beach. This is the central spot about which cluster the hotels 
and most of the summer cottages. Here, at high tide, an animated 
scene displays itself. Bathers, of varying degrees of timidity, are 
splashing about near the water's edge, while further out the bolder 
ones bob up and down like corks as the succeeding waves roll shore- 
ward. The heaped-up ridge of dry sand, above high water mark, is 
gay with the bright colored costumes of those who prefer a sun bath 
to a dip in the somewhat chilly waters of the Maine coast. 



10 

33 When the tide recedes a hard and firm expanse of sand is left 
uncovered. Its broad and level floor is the children's paradise. The 
following anonymous lines, which appeared in a volume of poems on 
" Sea and Shore," seem to have been written expressly for this charac- 
teristic group. 

" We are building little homes on the sands, 
We are making little rooms very gay, 
We are busy with our hearts and our hands, 
We are sorry that the time flits away. 

" Perhaps if we hurry very much, 
And dont lose an instant of the day, 
There'll be time for the last lovely touch, 
Before the sea sweeps it all away. 

34 " We do not mind the tide coming in, 

We can dig it a cunning little bed, 
Or leave our pretty house and begin, 
Another pretty house in its stead. 

" The shells that we gather are so fair, 
The birds and the clouds are so kind, 
And the winds are so merry with our hair, 
It is only the people that we mind." 

This interesting trio are now about to improve the opportunity offered 
by the rising tide for a delightful paddle in the cool waters. As they 
turned with a laughing defiance of the parental warning, a timely snap 
of the camera caught the graceful pose and captivating smile of un- 
conscious childhood. 

35 Beyond the beach extends for four miles the most picturesque sec- 
tion of the shore of York. It terminates in the lofty headland known 
as Bald Head Cliff, which now rises on the screen before us. Its per- 
pendicular wall, seventy feet high, presents a solid front to the whole 
force of the Atlantic, and furnishes one of the most striking examples 
on the New England Coast of the constant gain the sea is making in 
the continual strife. 

36 Let us approach and stand beneath the frowning bulwark. At the 
foot of the cliff is a basin, sufficiently large and deep to float a vessel, 
which has been formed by the wearing away of the softer trap rock 
by the action of the waves. It is evident that an enormous trap-dyke 
once existed here, of which the perpendicular wall of the cliff is the one 
remaining side. The opposite wall has been undermined and beaten 
down by the pounding of the sea, until the ledges on which we stand 
are all that is left of the crag which without doubt withstood for ages 
the power of the sea. 



11 

37 This bleak and rugged spot, like too many others along our New 
England coast, possesses a sombre fascination from being the scene of 
a tragedy which, though half a century has elapsed, is still fresh in the 
memories of many of the old residents of Kennebunkport. On a No- 
vember afternoon the ship " Isidore," named for her builder's daughter, 
sailed out of the harbor on her maiden voyage. The same night, in a 
blinding northeast snowstorm, her ropes and sails stiffened with ice, 
she drifted helplessly to her destruction, while her entire crew were 
lost within sight of the homes they had left but a few hours before. 

38 In striking contrast to the desolate spot where the " Isidore" met 
her tragic fate, is the peaceful quiet of the Kennebunk River, whence 
she sailed on her maiden voyage. Sixty years have elapsed since this 
placid surface was cleft by the " Isidore's " keel, as she spread her snowy 
pinions and sailed forth, never to return. Just as surely gone are the 
busy shipyards, where the air resounded with the echoes of a thousand 
hammers, and where, during the past century, more than 800 vessels 
were built and launched. But the old town, which went to sleep with 
the decadence of shipbuilding as an American industry, has become 
reanimated by the advent of the summer visitor. 

39 The fleet of sloops, schooners, barques and ships has given place to 
the flotilla of light canoes, and the men who sailed the weatherbeaten 
craft through all the waterways of the commercial world now cater to 
the capricious demands of those who annually visit this popular resort. 
A rowboat ferry furnishes conveyance between the hotels on one side 
of the river and the beach on the other. It occupies, by a strange 
coincidence, almost the identical site of the ancient Colonial ferry of 
1653, which was abandoned after the building of a bridge further up 
the river. In those old days the ferry was kept by a man of uncom- 
mon physical strength and undaunted courage, named Stephen Harding. 
Tradition reports that one day he was suddenly surprised at low tide 
by a band of Indians. Taking his wife under one arm and his child 
under the other he dashed across the stream and escaped to the woods, 
linally reaching the garrison at Wells in safety on the following day. 

40 The Indians, whom he successfully eluded, were tilled with admi- 
ration at his prowess, and thereafter referred to him as " Much man 
Stephen: all same one Indian." The ebbing and flowing tide of the 
Kennebunk River regulates the daily routine of social life, and affords 
the principal recreation of the floating population. And what more 
delightful occupation can there be for a congenial couple than to float 
dreamily up with the tide, loitering in some quiet reach under the shade 
of overhanging trees, and then, after waiting at the Picnic Rocks for the 
ebbing tide, to glide swiftly homeward as the evening shadows gather. 



12 

41 In marked contrast to the quiet and peaceful life at Kennebunkport 
is the cosmopolitan resort of Old Orchard Beach. This is a typical 
watering place for all who prefer scenes of animation and activity to 
those of solitude and seclusion. From the window of our room at the 
hotel we may look down upon a stretch of glistening sand, twelve 
miles in length. This was an ancient thoroughfare, for the traveler 
who journeyed by land from Portsmouth eastward, before the days of 
King Philip's war. One of the earliest settlers was Thomas Rogers, 
who planted an orchard, from which the beach received its name, and 
which for a hundred years remained a landmark, after his home was 
burned by Indians. 

42 As the twilight deepens, and the pale moonlight softens the scene, 
we are reminded of one of Taine's charming descriptions which reads 
as follows: "The coast stretches into the vapor its long strip of pol- 
ished sand ; the gilded beach undulates softly and opens its hollows to 
the ripples of the sea. Each ripple comes up foamy at first, then 
insensibly smooths itself, leaves behind it the flocks of its white fleece, 
and goes to sleep upon the shore it has kissed. Meanwhile another 
approaches, and beyond that again a new one, then a whole troop, 
striping the blue water with embroidery of silver. They whisper low, 
and you scarcely hear them under the outcry of the distant billows ; 
nowhere is the beach so sweet, so smiling ; the land softens its embrace 
the better to receive these darling creatures, which are, as it were, the 
little children of the sea." 

43 Old Orchard offers attractions to the summer visitor, infinite in 
variety and unlimited in number. There is the bathing beach, with its 
ten miles of curling breakers and abundance of room for all. Facing 
this grand esplanade are countless hotels, pavilions, booths, merry-go- 
rounds and side-shows of all descriptions. The great fire of August, 
1907, swept the entire ocean front, completely destroying everything 
within the limits of our view, except the iron pier and the large hotel 
in the extreme distance on the left. Finer structures are replacing the 
flimsy buildings which fed the flames, and the rebuilt Old Orchard will 
no doubt attract a still greater number of summer visitors. 

44 Leaving Old Orchard Beach, after rounding the long promontory 
of Cape Elizabeth, we see before us the lighthouse on Portland Head, 
which stands on this bold and and rocky point to guide the storm-tossed 
mariner into the finest and deepest harbor on the Atlantic Coast. 

" From gray sea-fog, from icy drift, 
From peril and from pain, 
The homebound fisher greets thy lights, 
O hundred-harbored Maine." 



13 

45 The view of the city of Portland, as one approaches from the 
ocean, is most picturesque. From the wharves and shipping, which 
fringe the water's edge, the buildings rise in tiers along the hillside to 
a height of nearly 200 feet. The great fire of July 4th, 1866, which 
swept like a cyclone through the business and eastern section of the 
city, turned a day of rejoicing and festivity into one of sadness and 
desolation. From the ashes of the once beautiful " Forest City " have 
arisen stately structures and palatial homes, but the significance of the 
name has gone forever. From the lofty eminence on which the city 
stands an unbroken view is obtained in all directions, limited on the 
south and east by the sea horizon, while inland it extends to where the 
White Mountain Range rises in bold relief against the western sky. 

46 Continuing our journey eastward from Portland we sail out among 
the countless islands of Casco Bay, beyond which the coast of Maine 
is one vast network of bays and inlets, everywhere picturesque and 
attractive. Small steamers make frequent trips to the various islands 
of Casco Bay, one of the most popular excursions being to Orr's Is- 
land, the scene of Harriet Beecher Stowe's well-known book, "The 
Pearl of Orr's Island." Our illustration represents the home of the 
" Pearl," a modest little cottage, facing the bay and reached by a short 
walk from the village and steamboat landing. The northern portion 
of Orr's Island is extremely picturesque, with bold, rocky and well 
wooded shores. 

47 As we leave Orr's Island, and gain the open sea, our course is 
shaped for the lofty watchtower of Seguin, standing guard at the 
Kennebec entrance. Within its tower of stone the most powerful light 
on the New England coast nightly sends forth its friendly warning. 
The region around the Kennebec and Penobscot, associated as it is 
with the earliest history of our country, and the bone of continual 
contention between Puritans and Jesuits, Huguenots and Catholics, 
the followers of Louis XIV and of George II, would of itself prove an 
ample subject for a lecture. 

48 Pemaquid Point, a view of which now appears to us, is associated 
with the legends of early New England discovery as well as the later 
events of her history. This was the domain of Samoset, the Indian 
chieftain who was the friend of the Plymouth Pilgrims. Subsequently 
a fort erected here by the English was attacked and captured by the 
French under Castine from their stronghold on the Penobscot. Off 
this shore in 1814, between Pemaquid Point and Monhegan Island, 
was fought the celebrated battle between the American brig " Enter- 
prise" and the British brig "Boxer," which resulted in a victory for 
the American, although fatal to both commanders. Longfellow, who 



14 
was a native of Portland, in his poem, "My Lost Youth," has said: 

" I remember the sea-fight far away, 
How it thundered o'er the tide, 
And the two dead captains as they lay 
In their graves o'erlooking the tranquil bay, 
Where they in battle died." 

49 The lofty island of Monhegan, twelve miles southeast of Pemaquid 
Point, is a centre about which cluster the earliest traditions of explo- 
ration and discovery along the New England Coast. The waters of 
its diminutive harbor, which we now view from the small rocky islet 
on the west, called Mananas, were first disturbed by the keel of Wey- 
mouth's ship "Archangel" in 1605. The island was a prominent 
landmark in the voyages of Champlain, Popham and Smith, and was 
a rendezvous for English fishing vessels long before the " Mayflower" 
came to anchor in Plymouth Harbor. The vessel at anchor in the 
harbor is the government steamer " Iris," on her quarterly tour of 
inspection of the lighthouses along the coast of Maine. The Monhe- 
gan light, sending out its brilliant flash from an elevation of 200 feet 
above the ocean's level, is visible for twenty miles, and is the beacon 
for which the pilots of the Bangor steamers lay their course when 
they round Cape Ann, on the voyage from Boston. 

50 Leaving Monhegan Island, the steamer passes through the Mussel- 
ridge Channel into the charming waters of Penobscot Bay. Just be- 
fore entering the harbor of Rockland we round a lofty promontory 
known as Owl's Head. Its summit is crowned with a growth of 
evergreen, surrounding the diminutive tower of the Owl's Head Light 
like a festal wreath. This bold and rocky headland is one of the 
most picturesque spots on Penobscot Bay. At the Rockland wharf 
lies a steamer bound for Bar Harbor and the eastern section of the 
coast of Maine. 

51 Threading her winding way across the island -studded waters of 
Penobscot Bay, the steamer approaches the historic town of Castine, 
which lies in the extreme distance of our picture. Drake says of this 
retired spot, in his " Nooks and Corners of the New England Coast : " 
" Richelieu, Mazarin and Colbert have plotted for it; Thurloe, Claren- 
don and Bolingbroke have counterplotted. It has been fought over 
no end of times, conquered and re-conquered, and is now of no more 
political consequence than the distant peak of Katahdin." A certain 
learned jurist, on being asked why he chose Castine as a field in which 
to begin the practice of law, made this reply: " Why, I found that I 
had to break into the world somewhere, so I thought, on the whole, 
I would select the weakest spot." 



15 

52 The surroundings of Castine are delightfully picturesque. The 
calm waters of the bay extend their sinuous branches in all directions, 
forming countless islands and peninsulas, among which the steamer 
passes so closely that at times one might almost step ashore. One of 
the most romantic spots in the neighborhood of Castine is Goose Falls, 
on the northern side of Cape Rosier. The combination of falling 
water, antiquated mill and decaying wharves, is most artistic and 
pleasing. But time, tide, and the Penobscot steamers wait for no 
man, and though Castine and its forgotten past would well repay a 
longer visit, the bell has sounded, and we are soon moving swiftly out 
past the lighthouse on Dice's Head. 

53 After rounding Cape Rosier the steamer enters a long, quiet stretch 
of water known as Eggemoggin Reach. At the entrance lies Pumpkin 
Island, with its lighthouse, doubtless so-called because no pumpkins 
are raised there, for, even if there were sufficient soil to nourish them, 
the solitary cow which roams the little islet at will would prematurely 
undertake the harvest. Never has a science been reduced to a greater 
state of systematic perfection than steamboating on the Penobscot. 
In dense fogs the pilots run their courses by clock and compass with 
such elaborate precision that they sail for hours through these narrow, 
crooked channels with perfect confidence, knowing accurately their 
position, when at times a turn more of the paddlewheels before alter- 
ing a course would have landed them on the rocks. 

54 After crossing Blue Hill Bay the steamer approaches the most 
picturesque section of the New England coast, 

" Where, gloomily against the sky, 
The dark isles rear their summits high; 
And Desert Rock, abrupt and bare, 
Lifts its gray turrets in the air." 

Circumnavigated by Champlain in 1604, it was by him called "The 
Isle of the Desert Mountains." Our picture shows the entrance to 
Somes' Sound, a fiord-like arm of the sea which cuts the island asunder 
for two-thirds of its width. Nowhere else on the Atlantic coast do we 
find mountains rising so abruptly from the sea, suggesting in their 
desolate grandeur the Norwegian fiords and headlands. 

55 Rounding the first of the two mountainous capes on the left, we 
see before us Valley Cove, a small sheltered harbor at the foot of the 
precipitous face of Dog Mountain. A short distance below this spot 
lies the smooth slope of Fernald's Farm, the scene of the first brief 
French occupation of the island in 161}. But, before these Jesuit 
Fathers with their handful of colonists could establish their settlement, 
a bold English adventurer, Samuel Argall by name, learning of their 



16 

presence, descended upon them unawares, breaking up their encamp- 
ment, killing part of the colony, and setting the rest adrift at sea in 
an open boat. 

56 During the war of 1812 the British man-of- war " Tenedos," which 

had been preying upon American commerce, anchored off Somes' 
Sound, impressed a pilot, and sent two boat crews, armed with cannon, 
to destroy a small fleet of trading vessels which had taken refuge in 
Norwood's Cove. But a warning had been sent secretly in advance, 
so that, before the British boats reached their destination, twenty -five 
sharp-shooters were lying in wait to give them a warm reception. 
The old pilot, forced against his will to guide them, warned the party 
that they would not find their task an easy one. " The boys is used 
ter shooting coots off the rocks," said he, " and they dont miss them 
once in a hundred times." But the British tars ridiculed his warnings 
and bent to their oars with a will. Guiding them into the cove, and 
toward the place where he knew the ambush must be, the old pilot 
sprang to his feet and cried out: " Boys, I'm here because they made 
me come ! Dont mind me, let 'em have it." The answer came in a 
shower of bullets, which swept the boats with such deadly effect that 
scarce enough were left uninjured to row back to their vessel. Next 
day the "Tenedos" departed, making no further attempt to stir up 
the hornet's nest she had so unsuspectingly invaded. The old pilot, 
we are glad to know, escaped uninjured. 

5 7 And now, as the steamer bears us rapidly away from Somes' Sound, 

we begin to skirt the shores of this beautiful island, that so narrowly 
escaped becoming an entrenched camp of French and Jesuit influence 
and a standing menace to the infant Pilgrim colony, which, eight years 
later, became established at Plymouth Rock. At the extreme eastern 
point of the island, forming the entrance to Frenchman's Bay, stands 
Great Head, the loftiest headland which the shores of the United States 
thrust out to meet the continuous onward march of the Atlantic's 
forces. From the deck of the closely passing steamer the minute 
details of its precipitous face are clearly seen. 

58 Soon after passing Great Head, if the tide is low, we observe a re- 

markable grotto, which the receding waters expose to view. It is called 
Anemone Cave, and, in the early days, before the vandal hands of the 
summer tourist despoiled it of its treasures, it contained miniature 
aquaria of marvelous beauty. Its clear emerald pools, freshly filled 
by each succeeding tide, were the resting place of countless anemones, 
their purple, pink and crimson fringes expanded by the cool touch of 
the waters, whose gentle impulse swayed the green and rosy mosses to 
and fro like anchored boats in a sheltered cove. 



17 

59 Across the little bay adjoining Anemone Cave is the bold headland 
called Schooner Head, from the fancied resemblance of two white spots 
on its seaward face to the sails of a schooner. The most unique charm 
of this beautiful island of Mount Desert, a name generally mispro- 
nounced by the inhabitants, is the unusual combination of the moun- 
tains with the sea. It is as if a fragment of the Norwegian coast had 
broken off, and, following the lead of the adventurous Vikings, drifted 
across the Atlantic and found a lodgment here, alone and conspicuous, 
even as the huge and erratic boulder, borne from its original moun- 
tain-side by some pre-historic glacier, stands isolated in the fertile field. 

60 But now we are approaching the most famous resort on the New 
England coast — the village of Bar Harbor. In two respects this unique 
resort is at a disadvantage when compared with Newport. It lacks 
the historical associations possessed by the latter, and its magnificent 
mountain scenery is too often obscured in that misty drapery so aptly 
described by the captain of a Penobscot whaler, a fog so thick that, 
having driven his jack-knife into it, on the eve of sailing for the Pa- 
cific, he found the knife sticking in the same spot on his return from 
a three years' cruise. Bar Harbor, as Drake informs us, "has neither 
form nor comeliness, but is the sudden outgrowth of a population 
that comes with the roses and vanishes with the first frosts of autumn." 

61 Extending for miles along the shore in either direction, and cover- 
ing the slopes of the adjacent hills, are sumptuous residences and park- 
like grounds, each with its individual and separately beautiful view. 
Our illustration represents the summer home of Maine's most distin- 
guished son, the late Hon. James G. Blaine. To the humble farmers 
and fishermen who formerly possessed these charming spots, to them 
barren and unfruitful, the influx of wealth and fashion has brought 
unexpected and incomprehensible fortune. A native islander, who 
had sold a small portion of his rocky farm for an enormous sum, was 
the following year asked to sell another slice of his ancestral acres. 
" No," said he, " I sold a patch of that pasture last year, and did'nt get 
nothing for it but a piece of paper I put in the bank, which don't do 
me no good. I guess I wont sell no more ; I need it to pasture my cow." 

62 What the cliff walk is to Newport, the shore path is to Bar Harbor. 
Through the courtesy of the property owners along the shore a path 
has been built across each lawn, which skirts the cliffs for several miles. 
All are permitted to use this walk, and to enjoy the beautiful vistas 
that are constantly being unfolded as one follows the windings of the 
pathway. On one side is seen an ever-varied succession of tasteful 
cottages, grassy lawns, flowering shrubs and stately pines ; on the other 
the open sea, the splashing waves, the gliding sails and the rocky cliffs. 



63 



64 



18 

From the hotel veranda at Bar Harbor we look out across the 
waters of Frenchman's Bay, studded with the remarkable group of 
islands, four in number, called the Porcupines. Each island turns to 
the sea a precipitous face, from which the land sweeps backward in a 
long, receding curve, bristling with a line of evergreen, like the spine 
of the fretful animal which suggested the name they bear. But our 
steamer is now approaching, bound for the eastern section of the coast 
of Maine. As we sail out past Schoodic Point, we take our last look at 
"The gray and thunder-smitten pile, 
Which marks afar the Desert Isle." 

The eastern section of the Maine coast is one succession of cliffs 
and crags, all marked by the continual warfare between the rock- 
bound shore and the ever tireless sea. The entrance to Little River, 
which forms the subject of our picture, is one of the most beautiful 
of the many lovely inlets abounding on the coast of Maine. The com- 
bination of sea and shore, of pointed headlands and gravelly beaches, 
of rocky cliffs and evergreen islands, is especially pleasing and attractive. 
55 And now, after skirting thirty miles more of grand and imposing- 

headlands, gray and desolate, continually swept by the swift tidal 
currents for which Fundy's waters are noted, we reach Quoddy Head, 
the extreme eastern point of land in the United States. The pictur- 
esque Balmoral tower of the West Quoddy Light, alternately striped 
in red and white, presents a striking appearance, standing on its ele- 
vated plateau, and looking out over a sea that is never quiet. We 
have now reached the eastern limit of New England's seashore, but, 
before turning our faces westward, let us take a few passing glimpses 
of the island of Grand Manan, with its long line of purple cliffs rising 
from the waters of the Bay of Fundy, and gleaming in the afternoon 
sun like some island of enchantment. 

66 As the cliffs of Grand Manan are best seen in all their grandeur 
from the water, let us cruise along its shores. At the northern end of 
the island, breasting off the tide which sweeps in swiftly eddying cur- 
rents around its base, stands Bishop's Head, so-called from the rude 
outline of a monk presented by a large detached rock at the water's 
edge. While the western shore of Grand Manan is one continuous 
cliff, lofty and forbidding, and destitute of a single harbor, the ground 
descends to the eastern shore in gentle slopes, forming countless shel- 
tered coves and quiet harbors, while off-shore are many outlying 
islands, some of large extent. 

67 Passing Bishop's Head the broad, horseshoe -shaped bay of Whale 
Cove is seen. Its little fishing hamlet lies at the end of the sandy 
beach, where the fertile fields slope down to the water's edge while in 



19 

the distance are lofty cliffs rising to a height of several hundred feet. 
Here, in January, 1857, the ship " Lord Ashburton" was wrecked on 
the further headland, and only seven rescued from a crew of twenty- 
nine. One of these, with almost superhuman effort, his hands and 
feet frostbitten, managed to scale the ice -covered face of the perpen- 
dicular cliff in the teeth of the terrific gale, and summon assistance. 

68 Rounding Swallow Tail, a long rocky cape crowned with the cus- 
tomary lighthouse, we come upon the little fishing hamlet of Flagg's 
Cove. Here everything is characteristic of the toilers of the sea, and 
is apparently arranged with an eye to artistic effect. Old tumble- 
down fishing houses line the shore, and boats of all sorts and descrip- 
tions are hauled up on its gravelly slope, the one in the foreground 
being a little fishing schooner of the old " pinkey " type, with its high 
and pointed stern. Although a few boats of this picturesque model 
are still seen occasionally along the down-east coast, they are but the 
decaying relics of a type long since obsolete. The fisheries form the 
principal occupation of the inhabitants of Grand Manan, who have 
not as yet shown much enterprise in providing attractions for the 
summer visitor, although in the grandeur of its scenery their island is 
unsurpassed and unsurpassable. 

69 Skirting the eastern shore of Grand Manan, along the route first 
sailed by Champlain 300 years ago, we reach the cliffs at Southern 
Head. Crowning the extremity of the vertical wall stands the Gull 
Cliff Light, flashing its friendly warning over the worst shoals and 
sunken ledges that the sailor knows, and fears. From this elevated 
perch, in clear weather, one may see, far off on the eastern horizon, 
the long blue line of the Nova Scotia coast, while westward the setting 
sun touches with gold the summits of the Desert Mountains, just visi- 
ble above the ocean's level. 

70 The sheer precipices of these Gull Cliffs, rising 300 feet above their 
wave-washed bases, furnish the grandest scenery our coast affords. 
The effects of light and shade on these moss-covered rocks, variegated 
in tints of purple, brown and gray, are to the eye of an artist most 
attractive and beautiful. The basaltic character of the rock, similar to 
that at the Giant's Causeway, gives the impression of an artificial 
structure, with the closely packed columns rising in regular tiers, one 
above the other. The greatest caution is required in approaching the 
edges of these mighty cliffs, as the columnar sections require but a 
touch to loosen their hold and send them crashing to the water below. 

71 Near the foot of the lofty cliff on which our eyes have just rested 
stands a detached rock, entirely surrounded by water at the full stage 1 >f 
the tide. In shape it resembles a cross set upon a mound, its summit 



20 

rising nearly eighty feet above the waters which ripple against its 
mossy base. It is known as the Southern Cross, and from its position 
near the southern end of the desolate line of the island's wall, it forms 
a conspicuous landmark for the passing vessels as they go in and out 
through the deep channel between the western side of Grand Manan 
and Quoddy Head. 
72 To the sailor, weary from the bufTetings of a stormy sea, it is the 

token of the end of his wanderings, and of his entrance into the deep, 
safe channel beyond its portals, even as to those who are tossed on 
the billows of life's stormy ocean, the sacred emblem is the symbol 
of peace and calm in the eternal haven beyond. 



MAY 4 1908 







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